Bella's Diary
by Bitter Apples
Summary: Another parody of the Twilight series.
1. Bella Begins

((I don't own Twilight, I would never own Twilight, and thank God and all things containing high fructose corn syrup, I never will.))

I don't know what was behind my decision to move to Forks. My venality may be to blame. Maybe its because I'm a philanthropist. There are multitudinous reasons, all of them congealing and molding together in order to form a hideous, massing, hulking glob of reasoning that I can find no way around. Perhaps I have a broken neurotransmitter. It would explain why I have a sudden urge to start a collection of pink ocarinas.

Alas, I can only conjecturify.

Charlie has been munificently munificent, despite my encroachment. But why wouldn't he be? I'm his daughter.

Forks in unearthly. An alien planet. Entirely too green. Conglomerations of trees, moss, grass-covered bears. The color contaminated everything in sight, including the camera filters belonging to the camera crew that has been following me around for a few days.

I think it is because I'm so dazzlingly beautiful in my half-albino trip-over-flat-surfaces way.

The buildings of Forks were not meretricious. They were ugly and blatantly unsegregated.

Buildings in Arizona were just plain ugly, sprawled out over the desert.

How I miss Phoenix! The sprawling desert, the tumble weeds, the cactus I called my home…

Seeing how I have been containerized here, I will have to be strong and survive. What will I encounter tomorrow?

A pack of sparkling vampires that only sparkle under sunlight even though it is entirely true that they should, under all reasoning, sparkle under fluorescent lighting?


	2. A Woman Scorn'd

(( Thank High-Fructose Corn Syrup and all things that have God in them [What an interesting statement...] I don't own Twilight. Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Her New Moon premiere dress looked like it came from a Hot Topic Regect Bin. You know this to be true. At least she did something with her hair, though. ))

The Constitution states that humans have an unalienable right to seek happiness, inversely stating that I have an unalienable right to be miserable when happiness eludes me. Happiness, of course, is Edward Cullen. The one person in this place who I am willing to know does not wish to know me. Out of desperation I have managed to conclude that I do not smell good to him, ( I will be replacing my strawberry shampoo shortly,) and that I must do everything in my power to smell pleasant for him.

Charlie and I might as well be incommunicado for all the good that our communicado is doing for us. While he would be willing to hear about my "boy problems", he would be of no help.

With unaustere and averse authority, he sends me to school each day, and would be resilient in this despite my significant issues concerning Edward. His smooth, seemingly translucent skin, pale as snow. His golden eyes that seem to contain the cosmos. Steely, brooding gazes that make the macrobiotic lunch in my stomach turn. His breathtaking fingernails, bronze hair, carefully carved face. Describing him is no tedious task. My heart jumps every time I think that I will see him tomorrow. My memory does him no justice. All my memory creates is a wistful shadow of the magnificence of him. Tomorrow, I will see him again.

That is all I would ever need to know.


	3. He Left Me

He wasn't there. I can only surmise that it is entirely my fault. Although there is a myriad of possible reasons, I know that the fault is mine, and the the blame is mine to carry. The timbre of my voice must have been too harsh for someone with a voice of melted honey. The disgraceful way that I tripped in front of him must have offended him- the clumsy are scrupulous. I feel absolutely dolorous- I find myself longing for the tall, proud cacti, vast, sprawling desert and cloudless blue sky of home. The scenic gray-and-green landscape of Forks, Washington holds nothing for me but dreadful amounts of shame.

I feel like a child. Someone snatched away the shiny object I so love- despite knowing nothing of- and I want it back. I must have it back. So I'm subconsciously throwing a fit.

I've managed to give myself dyslexia by riding the ten-speed I got for Christmas a few years ago and crashing, head-first, into as many trees as possible. But it wasn't really necessary. Stubbornly, the words began blurring themselves.

Charlie is positively jovial I'm here. I'm not.

I knew there was a reason I came here, and that reason is Edward. I'm sure of it.


	4. He Returns

I nearly went into cardiac arrest when I saw him.

I was next to my truck when I caught a glimpse. Oh, I never told you about my truck. It's a rust red '55 Chevy Pickup bought from a friend of Charlie's, Billy. Charlie bought it for me as a present.

I guess it was unimportant then.

He was positively alluring. His silhouette against the outer walls of the school was divine. Due to my being in the cynosure center of attention, I was unable to get a better look at him until Biology. He looked wonderful- the dark circles under his eyes didn't disfigure him- they merely highlighted his features. But something about him was different... His eyes had changed color. They were black. They are now gold. Like buttered melted topaz covered in honey. I sought to surmount my worry that he would reject me and leave me no answers. It took the longest time for me to ask.

"Your eyes..." I whispered.

"What about them?" His eyes refused to meet mine. His voice flowed like melted velvet honey. I was dazzled. There was the slightest hint of what sounded like amusement in his voice.

"Did you get contacts?" My voice refused to raise above a whisper.

"No. Of course not. Why do you ask that?" His voice was still amused. There was a slight crooked smile on his perfect lips.

"Because your eyes are a different color."

The amusement left his face. He refused to speak.

The silence broke my heart and goaded me into suspicion.


	5. Neck Braces

(( I don't own Twilight. That little... privilege(?!) belongs to one Stephenie Meyer))

It would consummately only ever happen to me. Today, I was almost hit by a van and I nearly died.

Of embarrassment. Shame. Pure mortification. Discomposure. Distress. Impecuniosity.

Because I almost got hit by a stupid, dingy blue van. Piloted by one Tyler Crowley. Because of him, I had to wear a neck brace. A neck brace, of all the most terrifying and ghastly things to wear around the neck! I was in emotional agony, but I wasn't hurt.

My ravishing, pulchritudinous, marvelous, grand, handsome, exquisite, delicate, dazzling, angelic, symmetrical, resplendent and utterly foxy Edward saved me. Which, truth be told, kind of pisses me off, because he totally wishes that he left me under the van to be paral- er, killed. Crushed. Squished. Desecrated.

I know I'm being too... inquisitive, and that it's probably going to get me killed, but that's perfectly OK. I am grateful to Edward- why wouldn't I be? But he needs to be honest with me.

How could he have lifted a van off of me? How did he move across the parking lot so fast? Why did his siblings look annoyed that he had saved me? Why didn't they like me like everyone else? And why do they get to be pretty and rich? I think I have some bad karma for putting a cat up a tree when I was ten. It would explain Edward not being honest with me.

But it doesn't explain the neck brace. Nothing will ever, ever explain the neck brace.


End file.
